


Silva

by dollcewrites, itsmylifekay



Series: Lupine [2]
Category: One Piece
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-10
Updated: 2016-10-10
Packaged: 2018-08-20 12:51:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8249743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dollcewrites/pseuds/dollcewrites, https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsmylifekay/pseuds/itsmylifekay
Summary: The sun has soaked into Sanji’s skin, a golden mid-day blanket warming him and Zoro as they lounge on the couch. Zoro’s thumb is rubbing lazy circles into Sanji’s hip, and Sanji’s head is contentedly dropped to the other man’s chest. 
Zoro’s breaths are deep and slow and his heartbeat is steady against Sanji’s ear.
“Do you wanna go somewhere for the weekend?”





	

 

The sun has soaked into Sanji’s skin, a golden mid-day blanket warming him and Zoro as they lounge on the couch. Zoro’s thumb is rubbing lazy circles into Sanji’s hip, and Sanji’s head is contentedly dropped to the other man’s chest. 

Zoro’s breaths are deep and slow and his heartbeat is steady against Sanji’s ear.

“Do you wanna go somewhere for the weekend?”

Zoro’s stroking of his hip doesn’t falter. 

“Like where?”

Sanji manages to shrug, even in this boneless position. 

“I hadn’t thought about it.”

They laze around for another minute before Sanji rolls on top of Zoro, resting his chin on his arms and staring into his boyfriend’s face.

“Do you like hiking?”

“Sure.”

“We could go hiking up a mountain. One with nice forestry and a view. Maybe a waterfall, I like waterfalls.”

“A challenging hike, though, right?”

“Naturally.”

A huff of Zoro’s breath tickles his face and a smile curves the corners of his mouth.

“Sounds good to me.”   
  
—   
  
Everything is paletted in greens and earthy tones. 

The stripped bark of the trees matches the red clay, the foliage is plentiful and the moisture in the air is dense under a thick canopy, but sunlight still manages to fall through. Gold dapples the pine needle floor.

Zoro blends into the forest. 

His skintone is deep and earthy, sunkissed, and his hair could be the moss on a log. Gold eyes shine and follow dust specks drifting through shafts of sunlight.

Sanji’s hiking boots press down the dirt of the trail. The air smells sweet. He feels good.   
Zoro’s clearly loving it too, always a few steps ahead of Sanji, though not for Sanji’s lack of attempts to catch up. 

The waterfall is a quarter of the way up, and it’s only small, but the water sings and it’s a beautiful dark indigo colour.

Zoro scoops up a handful of water and Sanji swats him.

“You don’t know if that’s safe to drink!”

Zoro shrugs, wiping the back of his hand on his mouth. 

“It won’t kill me.”

“We brought our own water,” Sanji gives the water bottle in the side pocket of his pack a tap.

“This stuff tastes nice.”

Sanji just rolls his eyes, and before long they’re on their way.

They’ve just passed a particularly impressive growth of fungus ringing half a tree trunk when Zoro stops and informs Sanji that he has to pee. Before Sanji can say anything back, he’s disappeared off the track, and he has no choice but to wait for the man to return.

It’s been 5 minutes when it dawns on Sanji that Zoro probably got lost.

“Oi! OI!” He cups his hands and calls out to the direction he disappeared from. “Zoro! Where are—”

A rustle from the undergrowth pulls Sanji’s gaze to ground. Bracken leaves part to reveal a familiar pelt, and a wet black nose pokes its way out. A small tick of panic floods Sanji, because seeing Zoro like this, as a wolf in the wild, is still mildly unnerving. He fights down a panic response.   
  
They stare at each other for a moment.   
  
“Zoro! God—” Sanji snaps his mouth shut and takes a deep breath, before glaring at his boyfriend. “You had better of left your clothes and pack somewhere you can find them. I am not driving you home naked. You’d have to live out here forever.”   
  
Zoro eyes him distastefully.   
  
“Maybe it’d suit you actually.”   
  
Zoro just huffs and flicks an ear, before turning to trot away, happily ignoring Sanji who strides after him to catch up. His tail wags a little, swishing side to side as he goes.

“You know, I don’t think wolves are supposed to...”   
  
Zoro’s bushy tail ceases its movements and an indignant growl vibrates from his throat.   
  
Sanji smiles—it sounds just like Zoro’s embarrassed  _ ‘shut up’  _ grunt when he’s in human form. 

—

He keeps noticing more similarities as they hike along, following the winding trail up the side of the mountain. Sanji finds his eyes continually drawn to Zoro’s from loping just a few feet ahead. His strides are still sure and relaxed, his shoulders still set at that same easy slope. He can practically see Zoro’s human form walking alongside him.

He’s so intent watching Zoro’s muscles work, the line of his back and his long legs effortlessly eating up ground, that he notices right away when Zoro’s hackles raise. His ears pull back and his pace slows, allowing Sanji to step up beside him and notice the narrowing of his eyes. His tail is parallel to the ground, much different from the relaxed on-and-off again wagging he’s been doing the rest of the afternoon.

Zoro’s body is warm against his leg and Sanji feels the first rumbling growl as it rolls out of Zoro’s throat.

“What’s up, big guy?” Sanji asks, reaching down and putting a hand on Zoro’s head to try and calm him. The last thing he needs is Zoro getting angry or going off when he’s in wolf form. They’d have the city in a panic.

It doesn’t take long for Sanji to figure out the problem. Another hiker comes around the bend, a middle-aged man with hiking socks pulled halfway up his shins and a walking stick in hand. Hardly intimidating, but a stranger nonetheless.

“Hello there!” The man calls.

Sanji lifts a hand to wave back then quickly buries the other in the dense fur around Zoro’s neck as he feels another growl come rumbling through Zoro’s chest.

“Nice day for a walk, isn’t it?” The man keeps approaching, apparently not as worried as Sanji about Zoro’s outward aggression. “I’m sure your friend there is happy to be getting out as well.”

Sanji looks down at Zoro as the man comes to a stop beside them. “Um, yeah. He was excited to come.”

The trees around them are peaceful and swaying in the slight breeze, trail dappled in sunlight that slips between the leaves. It should be relaxing, but Sanji’s heart is in his throat because this man must not have any sense of self-preservation. He kneels in front of Zoro and holds out his hand.

“What is he?” he asks, looking up at Sanji. He misses the completely offended look Zoro gives his hand.

“He’s, uh,” Sanji’s eyes go wide and his mind spins worthlessly at the simple question. “He’s a german shepherd...mix. Not really sure, just kind of found him so...” 

The man nods. “A rescue, good for you. He looks a little big for a German Shepherd, maybe he has some Great Dane in there too.”

“Maybe,” Sanji says, hopefully not sounding as out of sorts as he feels.

The man stands and gives them both another friendly smile, “Well, enjoy your walk. It’s a beautiful day and the view from the top is gorgeous.”

“Alright, thank you,” Sanji says. “Have a nice day.”

Heading off down the mountain, the man soon disappears out of sight, crunching of his boots fading beneath the sounds of chirping birds and insects. Sanji stands and watches the empty trail until he feels a nudge at his side.

Zoro’s looking up at him with judgment clear on his face, that same blank expression he gets when he thinks Sanji is being particularly slow. Sanji can picture the thin line of his mouth and the slight pinch of his eyes, superimposed as they are over the face of the wolf at his side.

“What? I panicked!”

Zoro huffs and twitches his tail, trots on ahead of him along the trail. After a few steps he looks back at Sanji, gives him a sharp bark that clearly says,  _ get a move on. _

“Shut up,” Sanji grumbles. They fall into step together and Sanji reaches out and puts a hand on top of Zoro’s head, feels the softness of his ears and the coarseness of the fur along his neck. Zoro’s tongue lolls out the side of his mouth and his tail swishes through the air behind them.

He looks like an idiot. But he’s  _ Sanji’s _ idiot.

And as much as Zoro’s wolf form still makes Sanji a tinge apprehensive, he can feel his tension easing with every passing mile. Especially when he can see the Zoro he knows in every move the wolf makes.

A bird calls out in the trees and Zoro’s head looks up then tilts the same way it does when he hears something curious on TV, or thinks he hears someone coming up the stairs.

He glares at Sanji for making dog jokes, barks at him for going too slow. He bumps against Sanji as they walk and it mirrors the casual touching of shoulders when he’s in human form.

He’s still the same Zoro, and Sanji wouldn’t want him any other way.

 

—

 

Sanji’s got fairly solid quads, but despite his leg’s strength and stamina, they’re burning by the time they reach the top.

Zoro is bounding ahead of him up the last few steps, a half-mud-half-plank twist of stepping stones that curves around a rock and disappears into bushes.

When Sanji pushes through the growth at the fringes of the last steps, he emerges out into a small plateaued area, and his breath is sucked from his lungs.   
  
They’re high up, ridiculously high up. The trees that ascended to shrubs and bushes have receded again to make a grassy outcrop, the view facing out down the steeper, denser side of the mountain. Miles of country roll out in plump hills and carved valleys. Like a quilt, the land is patched in different squares, wavering roads dividing some, fences thin as string boxing others. The air is crisp and sweet, the breeze runs fingers through his hair. Everything is so small, so far away.

Zoro is standing by the edge, thick shoulders squared and head tilted back a little in the wind. Russet tipped fur ripples, but the rest of him stays still.

He’s still the most breathtaking thing Sanji can see.

Slinging his pack from his shoulders, he walks over to sit by Zoro, aching a little as he drops to the grass.

“Worth it, big guy?”

Zoro’s tail is wagged favourably.

Sanji leans against him a little. He’s warm as ever—Sanji often jokes that if they can’t afford a heater, it’s no problem, because Zoro is an organic heater. The softness of his fur never ceases to surprise Sanji.

Sun pools warm on their backs and Sanji lets a sigh escape.

He wishes Zoro were in human form, so he could kiss him.

 

—

After the long hike, Sanji is especially glad that he’s remembered to pack a lunch. It’s a fairly simple affair, since it had to be compact and non-perishable, but he still be a lot of care into making it. There’s plenty of good things to get their energy back up for the hike home: fruits, vegetables, nuts and filling grains.

He pops off the top of the first lunchbox, ready to hand it to Zoro, then realizes that Zoro’s not turned back. There’s still a massive wolf sitting just a few feet away, staring out over the scenery with his ears pointed and his tongue lolling out, panting.

“Oi,” he calls. “It’s time for lunch, idiot.”

Zoro turns to look at him, those deep golden eyes settling on his face. Then he stands and trots off into the forest. It takes longer than Sanji expects for him to come back again, rustling of underbrush marking his return.

He’s prepared with a blanket for whatever state of nudity Zoro might be in. But he’s definitely  _ not  _ prepared for the limp rabbit hanging from Zoro’s jaws. There’s already a smear of blood along Zoro’s muzzle and Sanji can’t stop himself from staring in a kind of stupefied horror as Zoro plops down next to him and properly digs into his apparent choice in lunch.

It’s not something Sanji ever needed to see. The guts and gore don’t bother him so much, he knows how to butcher meat, has done it himself a number of times, but Zoro is making an absolute mess.

“Oi,” Sanji snaps, reaching over and flicking one of Zoro’s ears. “Have some manners.”

Sanji gets a grunt, Zoro snapping down the meat in his mouth before turning towards him. The look on his face is thoroughly unimpressed. He makes a strange combination of sounds, like grumbling and howling all at once, and flicks his tail pointedly across the ground.

“You’re not an  _ actual  _ animal, you bastard,” Sanji says.

There’s a beat of silence before Zoro looks back down at his meal, contemplating for a moment before reaching out a paw and nudging it a bit to the side. He looks to Sanji with a very put-upon expression before shifting so he’s angled away, going back to eating with his body obscuring the actions behind all the crunching and tearing Sanji can still hear.

Sanji just sighs, knowing it’s as good a compromise as he’s going to get.

It’s a feeling that’s echoed just a few minutes later when Zoro finishes his lunch and Sanji tells him to get the blood off his face.  _ Do it or you’re not getting in my car—or sleeping over for a week. _

Zoro pads over and takes one of the water bottles from the bag, punctures it with his teeth before tipping it over onto the ground where it begins to form a puddle on top of the dirt and rock. Before Sanji can do anything to stop him, he shoves his face in it, getting his blood soaked muzzle thoroughly covered in mud instead. Mud that Sanji has to wash off with the last of the water in the bottle and the bandana in his back pocket.

Zoro barks at him happily and butts against Sanji’s hip as he stands, already ready to go again as Sanji finishes packing up lunch and shoulders their bag. It leaves a smear of wetness along Sanji’s pants and Sanji turns to glare at the idiot by his side.

Zoro barks again, mouth open and rows of sharp teeth looking amazingly idiotic for the deadliness behind them.

Suddenly Sanji gets an idea and a grin sneaks across his face, making Zoro’s tail slow it’s frantic back and forth.

“You ready to go, boy?” Sanji asks, pitching his voice into something purposefully obnoxious. “Let’s go!” He claps his hands on his thighs once for good measure, then books it back to the trail before the confused look on Zoro’s face catches up with him, laughing his ass off as he goes.

It takes a moment but finally, from back up on the ridge, Zoro absolutely  _ howls. _

—

_ “Shit,”  _ Sanji mutters.  _ Where’s he gone this time? _

Blue eyes scan the undergrowth. Somehow, Zoro has slipped away again. He’s found his way back to Sanji each time, using his sense of smell or sense of hearing or whatever he does—but Sanji can say for sure that he has absolutely no sense of  _ direction. _

“Zoro! Zoro, get back here!”

Sanji takes a few more steps down the path, and then hears a rustle to his left.

Zoro’s form bursts from between two plants, and he bounds happily back to Sanji’s side, as if he never disappeared—and as if he isn’t half covered in thick brown mud. It’s soaked through the lower part of his pelt, coating his paws, leaving wet paw prints over the dry track.

_ “Zoro,”  _ Sanji gripes, exasperation taking the bite from his tone. He’s tired, and he wants a hot shower and now his dog-brained boyfriend is coated in mud, like the dog-brained boyfriend he is. “You’re filthy. You’re gonna ruin my car’s upholstery.”

An annoyed stare is flicked at him, as if to say _ well, you’re ruining my fun,  _ and that’s it for Sanji. He musters his best dog-training voice, and fixes his stare on Zoro.

“Go. And Get. Your clothes.  _ Now.” _

Zoro seems affronted by his tone, and pauses.

“I will be waiting  _ here. _ ” Sanji points to the log by the path.

With a huff, Zoro trots off into the bushes, and when Sanji thinks he’s out of hearing range he mutters,  _ “God forbid I say ‘fetch.’” _

It’s a good fifteen minutes before anything but birdsong and running water reaches Sanji’s ear. This time, the rustle of undergrowth is clear, and steps crack twigs, so Sanji is already watching the forest edge when Zoro comes trudging out of it.

His tan skin is caked with mud, though from his shoulders up he seems to be clean. The hiking shirt he was wearing previously is gone, presumably stuffed into the backpack he now carries, and his jeans are crumpled, muddy paw and handprints all over them. Sanji holds in his sigh, and dials it down to an eye roll.

“I think I have a towel you can sit on in the car. Let’s go.”

“It’s only some mud, cook,” Zoro grins. He extends a hand,  _ filthy  _ with mud that’s drying under under his nails, and reaches out as if to touch Sanji.

Sanji will deny the sound he makes in the next second, a squawk as he leaps back.

“No you  _ don’t _ —OI!—get  _ back—ZORO—” _

He side steps, and Zoro lunges forward again with his grubby hands like weapons. Sanji has to skip back again; and then they’re running down the pathway, Sanji yelling abuse as he goes, but a grin stretching his face nonetheless.

—

Trees flick by outside the window and Sanji keeps his hands carefully on the wheel, watching out of the corner of his eye as Zoro stretches and yawns and nearly smears drying mud onto the ceiling. A moment later he scratches his stomach and dried bits of dirt fall to the towel on his lap, Zoro shifting slightly in discomfort as the once cool and slick mud turns dry, constricting and itchy.

“Just had to go and roll in the mud, didn’t you?” Sanji huffs and reaches into the center console for a pack of wet wipes, throws them into Zoro’s lap. “See if those help. Don’t make a mess.”

There’s a cautious sniff as Zoro examines the contents of the package, but he obviously deems it safe and not some kind of prank when he pulls out a single wipe and scrubs it haphazardly over his hands and stomach, getting off the worst of it he can reach before settling back in a slump.

Usually when they drive, Zoro likes to put his bare feet up on the dash and hang one arm out the window, wind blowing through his hair. But Sanji isn’t about to get dirty footprints all over his car and Zoro at least knows better than to try it, so he’s stuck for now.

They’re a little over halfway back when Zoro suddenly perks up and reaches into the back, rummages around where Sanji can’t see before facing forward again with a little box in his lap-- his lunch from earlier, still carefully wrapped. Sanji’s about to tell him to leave it, that he’ll make something fresh when they get back, but Zoro digs in before Sanji can do much more than open his mouth.

His eyes find the road again and he listens as Zoro eats, the soft, barely perceptible noises he makes in the back of his throat like he thinks someone might steal his food, the happy sounds when something tastes particularly good. Sanji’s used to those things.

Then Zoro gets to the onigiri tucked at the bottom, something Sanji had felt like trying and whipped up on a whim. It’s not the best thing he’s ever made, but Zoro seems to disagree.

Because he outright  _ moans. _

Low and guttural and loud enough to fill the whole car despite the wind whipping in the windows. Sanji nearly crashes the car, feels the air get punched out of him and his head swim and almost misses a sharp turn, brakes and hauls the wheel around just in time.

Zoro’s too lost in onigiri bliss to notice, look in his eyes like he’s just been given the best orgasm of his life from a single bite of rice and seaweed and seasoning. He sucks off each individual finger once he’s finished and lets out another low moan, this one drawn out like a sigh with Zoro’s head tilting back against the headrest.

Sanji’s pants feel tight and his head feels fuzzy, foot pressing harder on the pedal as they get closer to home. They’re nearly there, but somehow still not close enough.

—

 

“Clothes. Off.” Sanji extends his hand.

Zoro gives him an unreadable stare, eyes slightly narrowed.

“You know, I pinned you as more of a romantic than that.”

Sanji can feel heat rising fast to his cheeks, so he snaps at Zoro a  _ “Just take off your pants!”  _ and Zoro does, a grin splitting his face as he unceremoniously peels his jeans off.

It hits Sanji then, in the exact moment Zoro’s hand drops to thumb down his boxers, that in some ridiculous twist of fate, his boyfriend has managed to look gorgeous. His hair is wild, his smile to match. There may be a few twigs in the green strands. Stripes and splashes of dried mud blend like clay over sculpted muscles, and there’s something so natural about him, undressing in front of Sanji without a care in the word, that Sanji would describe as  _ sexy.  _ This is quite different from Sanji’s dictionary definition of the word, but Zoro is all kinds of new to Sanji, and he frankly doesn’t care. He’s head over heels for the idiot.

Despite the white tiled bathroom’s tendency to smell of wet dog, and the muddy mess of a person that is currently Zoro, something’s really fueling Sanji and he needs it to die down  _ right now _ or they’ll be in a real situation.

It does  _ not _ die down. In fact, by the time Zoro’s boxers have been slid off and tossed to Sanji, the situation has become more dire. Sanji escapes the sound of running water and holds the jumble of clothing to his front, hurrying downstairs to dump them into one of the free washing machines in the apartment’s communal laundry room.

Upon returning to Zoro’s apartment, the bathroom door is still ajar and he approaches it much like a man approaching a bomb, waiting for it to explode in his face and hoping to god he can disarm it in time. Steam clouds the mirror and Sanji sucks in a breath at the sight of Zoro standing in the shower, lean lines of muscle unobscured by the half-drawn curtain. Sanji must make some sort of sound because Zoro looks over his shoulder with a wolfish, lazy grin.

Sanji’s entire body flushes with a mixture of embarrassment, arousal, and anger, not sure if he wants to smack the smug look off of Zoro’s face or pin him to the wall and make that smirk go away with entirely different methods.

“What?” Sanji snaps, trying to salvage what he can of his dignity. “Clean yourself off before the water goes cold.”

Zoro just smirks at him some more before finally turning back around and returning to half-assedly scrubbing at his hair. The sad thing is, Sanji doesn’t think Zoro’s trying to egg him on. That’s just legitimately how Zoro washes himself--  _ poorly _ .

“Scrub harder, you idiot.”

Zoro grunts and resolutely does not scrub harder. If anything, his motions get even more lazy and ineffective. He spends an inordinate amount of time just scrubbing at the hair behind his hair.

“Fucking werewolves,” Sanji grumbles under his breath, deciding he’ll have to take matters into his own hands. (For the sake of the floors, the sheets, and Zoro’s hygiene of course. No ulterior motives at all.)

He strips down then steps in behind Zoro, abruptly adding his own hands to the mix and yanking Zoro’s head back at an angle that can’t be entirely comfortable but, well, that’s what the idiot gets for not washing his hair properly.

“The fuck,” Zoro jerks in surprise and tries to twist in Sanji’s grasp, thwarted by the grip Sanji has in his hair. He settles for growling low in his throat. 

Sanji tsks at the sound. “Don’t growl at me, asshole. You’re the one caked in mud and unable to clean themselves.”

The grumbling doesn’t stop but it is surprisingly kept to a minimum as Sanji continues to work his hands through Zoro’s hair then slip easy down to scrubbing at his neck and shoulders and then the broad expanse of his back. Before he knows it the low growl has turned into a contented rumble and his own hands are straying further than he’d originally intended.

He moves to pull back but as soon as his hands leave Zoro’s skin the other man turns and in a flash has him pinned against the wall, nose skimming up the side of his neck and hands on either side of Sanji’s head. A moment later and their eyes lock, heavy and half lidded, and then their lips meet in a clash of warm, wet heat that has them both panting and groaning into the kiss. Hands clutch at each other, Zoro’s hard and possessive and Sanji’s grappling for anything he can reach before settling at Zoro’s sides, fingers clenching tighter at the first brush of their hips.

The sounds they make get mixed with the rush of the water.

It doesn’t take long before they’re rutting against each other like teenagers, too caught up in the rush of sensation and emotion to try for much else. Zoro’s hands are hot wherever they touch and Sanji shivers at the nip of teeth against his bottom lip, muffling a groan when Zoro bites harder then dips down to mouth at his neck.

They’re rocking into each other, thrusts speeding up and water still pouring over them, cooling down but neither of them care enough to turn it off. Sanji can feel the edge approaching, toes curling against the tile and Zoro’s thigh warm and solid between his own legs, Zoro’s cock hot against his hip.

Teeth press sharp and unforgiving into the side of his neck, punching the air from his lungs and leaving him panting into Zoro’s shoulder, a new mess between them that Zoro adds to a few moments later. It doesn’t take long before Zoro stirs and leans back to look at him with a grin, smug and satisfied but something else too. Something protective and warm that sends a new shiver down Sanji’s spine.

They finally manage to turn off the water then stand there in silence and each other’s space.

“So,” Sanji finally says, clearing his throat. “Wanna go hiking next weekend?”

Zoro’s grin turns predatory and teasing, eyes sharp as he leans in and presses a kiss over the bite mark on Sanji’s neck. “Sure,” he murmurs. Then he leans back and shakes out his hair, water droplets spraying everywhere around them before he hops out of the shower with a laugh, sauntering off into the apartment with a towel slung over his shoulder, shaking himself off and dripping as he goes.

Sanji glares into the empty bathroom.

_ “Fucking werewolves.” _

 


End file.
